At this point, Shirai Shiori was the only person in the Literature Club still opposed to the idea.
Which made her Akira's next target of persuasion.
"I didn't mean to belittle professionals," Akira said calmly. "The class rep mentioned earlier that I've been writing a novel too. But my writing skills aren't great, and my descriptions are pretty weak, so I was thinking—if I paired it with some high-quality illustrations, even if it doesn't become a bestseller, maybe I'd still have a shot at getting it published."
Akira thought his tone was already modest.
But to Shirai Shiori, it was pure arrogance.
"Published? Kuroba-kun, do you really know what it means to be published? Do you know how much feedback and revision a manuscript has to go through before it's ready to see the light of day? Do you have any idea how hard it is to become a professional writer? Do you know how many people get stuck at the 'award-winning' stage and still never get a book deal?"
Shiori's words came fast and sharp, her tone bristling with barbs. The rapid-fire questions left the air tight and tense.
Both Moe and Anri looked stunned. They'd never seen Shirai Shiori this agitated before.
She was always calm, quiet—more the type to listen than speak, never one to openly shoot someone down.
Graceful, well-mannered, well-read, refined… all words people would usually use to describe her.
Which meant Akira might just be the first person ever to piss her off this much.
And she wasn't finished yet.
"I'm not mocking you for writing novels, Kuroba-kun. I'm mocking the fact that you've only been at it a little while, and you already think you're good enough to get published! Do you honestly think getting a book deal is that easy?"
Akira shrugged, unfazed.
"I know it's not easy. But if I don't try, how will I ever know?"
"Hah! Don't just make it sound so simple! You think being good at high school essays makes you a writer? You think your so-called 'brilliant ideas' haven't already been thought of by someone else? If it were really that easy, then every chūnibyō would be a published author!"
"..."
That didn't bother Akira. In fact, he found it kind of funny. Wait—is she talking about me?
Because let's be real: the height of chūnibyō was also when most people first got the itch to create. A lot of creative journeys began during those cringe-worthy teenage phases.
"Trying to hide your lack of writing skill behind pretty illustrations—just that mindset alone shows you have no real resolve to be a professional writer!"
She wasn't wrong.
Akira didn't have that kind of resolve.
Writing, for him, wasn't some lofty aspiration or sacred calling. He wasn't in it for the art. He just wanted to make money.
From that standpoint, yeah—he lacked "purity."
But he also understood now why Shiori was reacting this way. She was the one who wanted to be a real writer.
What he said had trampled on a dream she took seriously. That's why she was so angry.
Now the question was—how to de-escalate? Was it too late to apologize?
Even after that emotional outburst, Shiori wasn't done. Arms crossed, she turned her head with a disdainful huff.
"And anyway, light novels are just shallow entertainment at best. Even if you do get published, that doesn't make you a real writer."
That last jab… actually made Akira bristle.
Not because she insulted him, but because of that superior, holier-than-thou attitude.
What he hated most were those "intellectual snobs" who strutted around with a built-in superiority complex—acting like reading a few more books made them better than everyone else, looking down on others like they alone were sober in a world of drunks.
People who read classics mocking web novels. Console gamers mocking mobile gamers. Seriously?
It's just reading. Just playing games. Who the hell are you to say what's more "noble"?
Akira knew Shiori probably meant well. She didn't want to see her friend get used. But her words rubbed him the wrong way.
For a girl infected with a terminal case of literary snob syndrome, Akira decided he wasn't going to hold back anymore. It was time for a dose of adult-level tough love.
"The class rep mentioned earlier that Shirai-san writes novels too. I haven't read your masterpiece yet, but given how confidently you speak, I'm guessing you've got a lot of faith in your work."
"Urgh…"
Shiori realized she'd gone too far.
Sure, those were all things she believed, but there were still lines she shouldn't have crossed.
Especially that swipe at light novels. It wasn't fair to people who liked them—like Moe. She shouldn't have insulted her friend's taste like that.
And she knew full well that there were amazing stories in the light novel world. She was just too worked up to stop herself.
But now the words were out. Spilled water couldn't be gathered back up. Her pride wouldn't let her walk it back either.
So she went silent.
And that was Akira's cue.
"Since you've said light novels are beneath you, I'm guessing writing one good enough to get published should be no big deal for you?"
"..."
Shiori could already see where this was going.
He was challenging her.
A duel.
Akira spread his arms and said nonchalantly,
"I mean, all I care about is getting results that'll help the Literature Club survive. If someone's novel gets published, then we're good—doesn't have to be mine. So let's make it a contest. Let Moe decide who to illustrate for, based on whose work wins."
"..."
"Doesn't have to be a full publishing deal either. Even just getting a piece accepted for serialization in a magazine counts. Whoever gets their work published first, wins. How's that?"
At this point, Shiori realized she couldn't back down.
If she wanted to stop Akira, she had to prove he was unqualified—by beating him.
"…Deadline?"
Akira raised a finger.
"One month. If you win, I'll strip and run laps around the school field."
"Are you… serious?"
"Dead serious. But if I win…"
The girl's pride flared. She spoke before he could.
"Then I'll get down on my knees and apologize."
"Just kneeling's not enough. Full nude dogeza. I mean, I'm putting my clothes on the line too."
Shiori's brow twitched. For a girl, full nudity was tantamount to social suicide.
But her pride wouldn't let her retreat now.
She gritted her teeth and agreed.
"Fine! You said it—we'll see who wins!"
Whoever lost… would have to bare everything.
This was no longer just a contest of writing.
It was a duel of dignity.
Of pride.
And of clothes.
---
T/N: bonus chaps tomorrow
Hey everyone, thanks for reading. If you're enjoying the translation, dropping some Powerstones would really help out your hardworking translator (100 stones = 1 bonus chapter, 200 = 2 chapters, and so on—easy math, right?).
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